The Trouble with Daphne Greengrass
by Over.Thinking.Daily.Life
Summary: One-shot. Short, fluff-ish romance of the courting of Daphne Greengrass.


The Trouble with Daphne Greengrass

The trouble with Daphne Greengrass was that she could look good in rags. Forget passing off an exquisitely tailored mourning gown.

Pansy, on the other hand, frowned as the bones of her corset cut into the tender flesh of her inner arm. The brocade was too heavy. The cut was wrong- pinching into her waist and making each breath a labor. The skirts were so heavy her hip bones would be bruised the next day. She was sure.

Still, as sister of the deceased, no one looked when she lifted the heavy, silver goblet and took another swallow of the too sweet, too thick wine. No one commented, when she staggered over to the pyre to stand next to her classmate. No one mentioned how she hid her left hand in her pocket because if the weight of the Parkinson Family ring pulled her off balance, the sight sent her head spinning and her stomach churning.

Daphne barely stirred from her place as Pansy stood beside her. Merlin- it wasn't fair. It wasn't fair that even now, Daphne's hair was a soft waterfall of curls down her back or that her makeup was flawless- untouched by tears or emotion.

"Look Daph, I have a proposal…"

. . . . . . . .

The trouble with Daphne Greengrass was that she was conceived right after Lord Parkinson decided to expand the Parkinson holdings and born right when Lord Roderick set his sights on a Greengrass plot of land.

Daphne Greengrass was betrothed to Heir Palin Parkinson when she was 4 hours and 13 minutes old. In return for becoming the future Lady Parkinson, the Greengrass family gave the Parkinsons 4 carcucates of prime forest in which to build a new crup farm.

When Pansy came into the world 7 months and 4 days later, she was already at a disadvantage in both age and position. After all, what can the third born child expect from her future sister-in-law and head of the family?

. . . . . . . .

The trouble with Daphne Greengrass was that she was a horrible correspondent.

Pansy drummed her newly too short nails impatiently on her desk as she waited for Mendleson to return. If her owl returned with another unopened letter…

Looking to distract herself, Pansy pulled Goyle's report sheet from under the stack of her other correspondences and frowned. Hiring Gregory had originally been an act of pity, an act of smug condensation to Draco, but the man had shown a genius in animal husbandry that all years of Hagrid's tutelage never exposed. Under his hand, the ranch was thriving well beyond projected growth. Maybe it was worth considering appointing him to manager of the Eastern Lot. Braeburn was getting old and neither of her brothers had time or inclination to appoint a successor before they died.

A flurry of wings distracted Pansy from her thoughts. She picked up the unopened letter and grinned down at the angry, red scrawl across the front. Daphne had chosen that color especially for her.

. . . . . . . . . . .

The trouble with Daphne Greengrass was she couldn't mask her emotions if her life depended on it.

"Slytherin!"

Pansy frowned as the curly-haired girl shot her a triumphant grin before scampering to the green table.

The entire ride on the Hogwarts express Daphne had worried that she would be sorted into Ravenclaw. Blue didn't match her coloring at all. There weren't any of the right sort in Ravenclaw. What would Pansy do without Daphne to watch out for her? Of course, she'd ask Circe to look in on her, but everyone knew that Circe was a terrible bore. Would Pansy miss her if she was in Ravenclaw? She'd promise to still eat with her right? And sit next to her in all the same classes? But what would her parents say!

Exasperated and exhausted, Pansy snapped that Daphne was as likely to get into Ravenclaw as a she was to catch a snitch. Daphne didn't even have the graciousness to scowl at the implied insult before she went back to her worrying.

Still, Pansy hadn't complained when Daphne nearly leapt to her feet when applauding her sorting. Or how Daphne had forced Draco Malfoy to move over so Pansy could sit next to her. Or how Daphne had crawled into her bed that first night, giddy with excitement, and promised that the next seven years were going to be amazing. The very best. They were going to rule Slytherin and be best friends- closer than sisters.

. . . . . . . . . . . .

The trouble with Daphne Greengrass was that she was always trying to better herself.

Pansy had always been able to pick Daphne out of a crowd. The sparsely settled café was no challenge, even with Daphne's wavering Notice Me Not charm. The girl had taken some care to not be recognized outside of the shoddy spellwork- her robes were conspicuously plain, her cloak was covering her hair and she, of all things, was bent over a book. An actual book. A Book-

Pansy reached down and hefted the heavy tomb off the table.

". . . A Gentlewitch's guide to Stars, Comets, Planets, and the Fortunes They Tell? Oh, Daph, don't tell me you're going to try and read star charts for a living."

The faint dusting of pink on Daphne's cheeks betrayed her answer, even as she squared her thin shoulders and managed to look down her nose at the standing Pansy. "A lady doesn't steal books, Pans."

"Funny." Pansy's lips twisted into a not terribly humorous grin, "I'm not a lady anymore. I'm an heir."

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

The trouble with Daphne Greengrass was that Palin simply wasn't interested.

"Dead?" Fourteen-year-old Daphne seemed more confused than heartbroken at the news of her intended's death at the hands of a jilted lover- at least according to the weeping man's confession. "Do you think our school robes will count as black mourning attire?"

Even though her eyes felt as though she'd cleaned them with sand, Pansy couldn't help but give a small laugh. "You might want to at least pretend to be distraught in public, Daph, he was your fiancé." The small girl dismissed the thought with a wave of her hand.

"He was your brother, Pans." Then, the truth of the statement finally sunk in and she launched herself at Pansy with a wail. "Oh Pans- how thoughtless of me! You must hate me- he was your brother! How are you holding up, darling?"

"We had an Heir and a Spare for a reason, Daph." Pansy managed a shrug as she was knocked backward on the couch. Palin was temperamental, even cruel, and brother or not, Pansy had never forgiven him for his casual slights against her friend.

"The Parkinson's still do," Daphne ran a thumb under Pansy's eye, smoothing the remnants of a tear into her skin. Under the layers of itchy school vests and starched shirts, Pansy's heart twisted. "Oh, I have the perfect mascara. It's not at all waterproof. We will be deliciously distraught."

. . . . . . . . . . . . .

The trouble with Daphne Greengrass was that she could be a damned good dueler.

A soft pop of appiration was all the warning Pansy got before the fence post next to her exploded into a shower of splinters. War trained reflexes had a visible shield distorting the air before the shards hit her.

"Not the fence," She yelled at the approaching figure, "Do you have any idea how hard it is to corral sixteen Crup pup-" The word broke off with a grunt as the next spell dissolved her shield and sent Pans skidding back over the dew-damp lawn.

"You hexed him!" A blue spell spat out of Daphne's wand and turned the ground beneath her feet into quicksand. Pansy lost a boot before she managed to cast a quick freezing charm and stop sinking. Then she nearly stumbled into a bright pink curse that would have given her a very unflattering perm.

"He wasn't good enough for you." Pansy tossed off a halfhearted stumbling jinx that Daphne batted away.

"He was pureblood." The woman snarled, "An heir-"

"With no fortune." Pansy countered, leaping out of the way of something that Daphne absolutely should not have known or been able to cast. "How was he supposed to pay for your visits to the spa? Or the grapefruit at breakfast? Or those stupidly expensive creams with the snail essence?"

"Money doesn't matter! He proposed- it was romantic-" Each word was punctuated with a sharp flash of her wand. Sweat beaded under Pansy's ponytail and her shield wavered.

"Do you even love him, Daph?"

Daphne responded with an inarticulate scream of frustration and disappeared.

. . . . . . . .

The trouble with Daphne Greengrass was that she was so bloody-minded practical.

"Well, why wouldn't I marry him, Pans?" Daphne set down her magazine and blinked up at Pansy like she wasn't about to make the stupidest mistake of her life. "All the arrangements are already made. We can just transfer over the same dowry, keep the same wedding date, we don't even need to change the embroidery on the napkins-"

"Do you even love him!"

Daphne shrugged- an involuntary, desperate jerk of her shoulders as she twisted her ring- actually the same one Palin had given her years ago- on her finger. "I don't hate him."

"That's hardly the same thing, Daph."

. . . . . . . .

The trouble with Daphne Greengrass was that it took her forever to make up her mind.

"Excuse me?" Pansy blinked down into the fire where the glowing face of Daphne glared up at her. It was two in the morning and Pansy had been ready to go to bed when Peppy the House Elf informed her that Miss Greengrass was fire-calling from the library.

"Explain how it would even work, Pans." Daphne demanded. If she didn't have her head stuck in a fire, Pansy knew she'd be pacing up and down, "I've wanted children. I've always wanted children. Two. You know this."

"I know- I know-" Pansy shrugged and leaned against the table, crossing her legs. "Polyjuice. We keep locks of hair from all the family members, so you could basically take your pick." She gestured to the array of Parkinson family portraits which lined the walls. Pity there was such a strong resemblance of pug that ran through the family.

"And who would…." Daphne's voice trailed off in an embarrassed flush, visible even through a fire, at the scathing look Pansy sent, "Oh. Right."

"It would only be once. Maybe twice." And pleasant for neither of them, though Pansy wasn't about to bring that up now of all times.

"I don't know Pans…" Daphne clutched at her arms in miserable indecision.

"Or we could adopt," Pansy suggested desperately, astonished at her own words.

. . . . . . . .

The trouble with Daphne Greengrass was that she always got her way.

"I told him he shouldn't have taken the mark," Daphne said flatly as they stared down at the shrunken, withered arm. The black skull burned brightly, dark tendrils leeching up the arm towards the heart.

On the bed, Patrick gave a faint moan and twisted his sweat-soaked head. He'd fallen into the delirious fever four days ago and was worsening with every hour despite his fiancee's constant attention and care.

"I don't get it." Pansy shook her head and knuckled her eyes where a headache had begun to bud. "No one else is suffering like this. Why Patrick? Dad basically forced him to take the mark. He could barely articulate what the Dark Lord's actually wanted."

Daphne's voice was cold, "He knew enough."

. . . . . . .

The trouble with Daphne Greengrass was that she still surprised Pansy after more than twenty years of knowing her.

"I would want parties." Daphne interrupted.

"What?" Pansy's brain juttered to a stop, trying to connect Daphne's statement to her previous rant on managing feed prices.

"Monthly parties" Daphne continued, the edges of her voice growing a little sharp, "And on the big celebrations- solstices, Christmas, Beltane."

"Yes?"

"And I would want my own room – and my own bathroom because you do not know how to share a bathroom counter. And you can't tell me what to do and expect me to do it. Or get on my case about frivolous things- because I like frivolous th-"

"Daph. Shut up." Pansy snapped, hope blooming in her chest. "I lived with you for seven years. I know what you like better than you do."

Daphne did, for a moment. Then she spun around hands bunching the soft silk of her robe, "Well, then- what are you waiting for? Ask."

"Daphne, do you even love me?"

. . . . . . . . .

The trouble with Daphne Parkinson was . . .

A/N: A short little story because I wanted to explore the role of Heir's in pureblood society and flesh out a little of the excessive backstory I have for all the Slytherins. Takes place in a universe adjacent to, but not the same as, The Mentoring of Hermione Granger.

Currently complete at this one shot, but might be inspired to add an epilogue chapter of snippets of their married life.

Let me know what you think!


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